


Ain't No Rest for the Wicked

by Skiskooska



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Robin was possessed and then suddenly wham bam he back, This could be chrobin if you squint, for all i care they're bros 4 lyfe, i wrote this in like 20 minutes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-15 09:02:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14787512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skiskooska/pseuds/Skiskooska
Summary: Grima never expected to lose. He didn't anticipate that his future and past vessels had it in them to fight back. Yet here he was, starting his death in the face, from one who avoided his grasp entirely, and the other's emotions burning through.Or, with Grima defeated, his vessel still holds a bit of the man he used to be. There's no happy ending for those who have sinned for so long.





	Ain't No Rest for the Wicked

**Author's Note:**

> idk man I didn't proofread this or spellcheck, I just went with the flow while listening to angsty music.

“Y-you wouldn’t dare!” He bellowed, voice hoarse from his dry throat and blood pooling in his mouth. Everything hurt, his ribs, his arms, his especially the gaping wound in his chest. This was not how he was supposed to meet his end. He was the end. He was destined to rewrite humanities tale. He was put back on the map to wipe out the scum of the Earth. Yet he fell to his knees, completely at the mercy of his own vessel, his past self, who had managed to re-write fate before his very eyes, and was on the verge of literally killing himself. 

“You… You would dare land the final blow,” Robin’s corrupted body seethed, a deep, wet coughing finding its way to the surface, bringing all the more blood to his parted lips. “Leave behind all your precious friends... Do those bonds really mean so little, to just throw them all away?” He tried to bring himself to his feet, but hissed at the pain, being forced down onto his knees. 

His other self looked unfazed, staring him down with hollow amber eyes. His coat was shredded, but the Grima possessed vessel could only imagine it was leagues better than his own. Save for the cuts and scrapes, he was almost entirely unharmed. No doubt thanks to his experienced healers weilding a Psychic staff, and Naga blessing their entire party. His other self began to slowly walk towards him, caution in each step, yet he knew there was no way Grima could rebel. His mana had been entirely drained, and his fell energy all but sapped due to a few blows he’d received from Falchion. Even the Dragon they stood on was in for a crash course, unable to continue fighting, and barely able to keep flying. With each beat of the wings, they all grew closer, and closer to the ground. 

“Do it,” He hissed, reaching out for his other self, “End me. End me once and for all, show me how little your pathetic army means to you.” He taunted, voice growing more hoarse, “Defy your fate, deny godhood, just kill me.” He demanded, shoulders shaking, and tears he didn’t understand began to brim his eyes. Those tears weren’t his… No, it was the man who once controlled this body, a man who no longer should exist in this world, since they were one in the same. “W-what are you waiting for?!” He rasped. 

Robin, his past self, the one who chose his friends, and faced his destiny with strength and diligence, knelt down in front of him. “Tell me,” he almost whispered, Grima would have missed it, if he weren’t so desperate to get a reaction out of his past self. “Tell me what would it take to break you free.” He continued. His now ungloved hand rested on Grima’s shoulder, a comforting embrace that he didn’t deserve. Yet here he was, offering it, so candidly, even after trying to kill him not even moments ago. 

“Death.” He stated. Red eyes as cold as steel. He was unwilling to walk out of this alive. If he were to lose, than he was to die. The Grima in him accepted no less of this failure. Did it mean the end of a millennium of planning? Yes. Did it mean he had failed to achieve his dream? Yes. Will he face his destiny with strength? Damned if he doesn’t. 

Robin’s eyes closed in understanding. For the first time in his life, Grima witnessed his vessel willingly channel the fell energy that ran in his blood. Black magic began to pool in his outstretched arms. Grima could already feel it draining whatever little life force remained in him. 

“For once, I’m glad you and I are one and the same,” He began, his voice was level and even, having already accepted his fate of a martyr. “Our evil deeds will never come to fruition. We will never harm a soul again. It’s only fitting we meet our ends together.” With one swift blow, he grabbed Grima by the neck, and released all the energy he had stored. 

White hot pain seared his entire being. His hands weakly moved to remove Robin’s but were unsuccessful, instead just gripped his arm for dear life. He bit back a scream, only letting out muffled gurgles. He wasn’t going to let these worms watch him die in vain, he was going to embrace it to the very end. He was grateful that the younger tactician wasn’t attempting to actually strangle him, that would have made for a more pitiful sight. 

After what seemed like an eternity, Robin’s arm finally pulled back. Grima’s vision was far too cloudy and unfocused to make out the sight before him. His whole body gave out, and he fell to his side. His ears started to ring, and his mind was beginning to turn to mud. He slowly moved his arm outwards, to reach the black and purple form before him. He slowly attempted to blink away the fog in his vision, however that only succeeded in muddling his mind even more. 

Visions he had long but forgotten has began to flood his mind. He could remember sand, and stone. Heat and fire. A man with a wicked smile, and a traumatized young village girl learning dark magic. He could feel the warm embrace of a hand, and a calculated smile radiated from a woman with messy white hair shoved in a loose bun. He felt remorse and sorrow when he looked at her, he could feel the disappointment in her gaze as she saw him now. Gone was she, in a flash of fire and smoke, now he was alone, in an imposing palace, with golden figures gazing at him with pure malice. A flash of blue and a dot of yellow where invading his mind from all sides. He could feel the lean muscles hugging him from behind, and the bubbly giggling from the yellow girl. His chest felt light and elated. He had forgotten them, he had forgotten the safety and warmth they provided him. There were reds, and purples, and greens, and blues. All people he had known, people he had trusted with his very life, and they them. People he was proud to take up arms with and call comrades. Yet, the blue spector shone, in all his golden radiance was the one who remained by his very side. 

He reached for him, arm stretched out to something so close, yet so far. He longed for the feeling of his warmth once more. His brilliance was blinding, he had burned away the shadows of his past, and presented nothing but a brighter future. He was the calm, and he was the healing, he was the one who would liberate his tortured soul. 

Opening his eyes, he watched as bright purple flames danced on his skin. The pain was almost blinding, but it didn’t matter to him at this point. His bloodshot eyes lazily scanned his surroundings. He couldn’t remember what he was doing up to this point, he didn’t know where he was was, or whom for all that mattered, all he cared about was finding any sort of familiar figure in the blurs of colors and shapes presented in front of him. 

His eyes landed on a pair of two people, one purple and the other that brilliant blue that his heart cherished so dearly. In that moment, he forgot he was dying, he forgot about the dark flames licking his very existence out of this world, he forgot about the pain. Weak limbs shook as they slowly pushed his body to his side. He gave a small groan as his entire existence protested this action. 

A pair of cobalt eyes glanced in his direction, those eyes were filled with nothing but malice and rage. Tears remained unbreached on the edge of the Exalt’s eyes as he clung to the mess of purple and white in his arms. Those same hellish flames also engulfed whatever or whomever he was holding. But the hierophant didn’t care, he didn’t care that whatever he was holding was meeting the same fate as him, or that the expression thrown his way was anything but welcoming. He was determined to reach the one person who was guaranteed to take the agony of his existence away. 

“C-chrom!” He gasped out, unsure as to how the name came to him, but satisfied as it felt so familiar and safe on his tongue. His efforts doubled, as he managed to pull himself up onto his shaky arms and knees. “Chrom…” He weakly rasped again, desperate to reach the figures not even a few feet away from him. If he noticed the steely gaze of pure hatred sent his way, he definitely didn’t care. 

“This is all your fault,” Chrom’s deep voice rang, thick and laced with emotion. “Why won’t you just die already!?” His voice wavered, as tears now began to fall down strong features. His arms held the figure tighter in his arms, shoulders now beginning to quiver and shake. The longer the Exalt looked in the direction of the struggling fallen draconic vessel, the more he was cemented in the reality that he was going to lose his best friend. 

The older white haired man didn’t pay any notice to words thrown in his direction. “Please…” he cried, “Everything… h-hurts.” the older Robin muttered, choking on the blood pooling in his throat. His limbs were growing far too heavy to support his weight, and he collapsed mere inches away from the Exalt and the purple cloaked figure. “Help me”

The impact on the rough scaled back of the dragon sent his head reeling even more. The world was beginning to spin, and there was no stopping it. He could vaguely make out the loss of feeling in his hands in feet. He could no longer feel himself ground to reality, it was beginning to feel a bit like he was floating. 

Suddenly, a hard metal boot violently slammed against his chest, causing him to harshly roll onto his back. He no longer had the energy to react or even let out a pained cry. He could no longer do anything for that matter. His body was finally shutting down, and fading away. The numbness was steadily climbing up his arms, the prickling sensations stopping just short of his elbows. 

“Go to hell.” Chrom spat. He could do nothing but cherish the words of his other half. He couldn’t understand what he did to warrant such violence, from the one figure who was a relentless ray of sunshine in his meek life, but they were all he had in his dying moments. A small smile fell on his face, as he found comfort in the fact that he was so close to him, he choose to look past the intense reactions coming from his prince. 

The hierophant could do nothing but close his eyes as he succumbed to complete and total darkness. “I’m… sorry…” was all he could quietly mutter as his body fully succumbed to the dark flames and faded away. 

His soul had never truly known rest and peace, yet here, dying for his sins, he found peace one final time, just being close to those he loved.

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, with Grima gone, the old Robin's soul is free. Though, he's confused and disoriented as those who are dying usually are, especially those who have been possessed for a long time, and just remembers flashes of his life and wham bam there's Chrom, but Chrom is like oh hell no you can die Grima, even tho he's not grima anymore.


End file.
